


Not So Fast

by Steals_Thyme (Liodain)



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Oedipal Issues, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-28
Updated: 2010-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liodain/pseuds/Steals_Thyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurie knows what she wants; Rorschach is hesitant to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Fast

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) – prompt is 'rough sex'.

Laurie lights another cigarette and watches Rorschach watch her.

They don't have much else to do today, what with Dan out of town for an aeronautics symposium, so they play this game. He pretends he's not looking at her, and she pretends she doesn't notice the weight of his gaze on the nape of her neck, on the curve of her back, on her wrists and forearms as she sits at the kitchen table.

Sometimes he can look right at her and she doesn't feel a thing, other than faintly creeped out by the flatness of his eyes. He may as well be staring right through her. Actually, he probably is; some kind of weird defense mechanism for when the mask is off.

But when he doesn't want her to know that he's staring at her? It prickles like sunburn, and it's irritating as hell because he's so _careful_ about it, like he is about _everything_ around her.

He handles her like fine china, and yeah, he has issues but they've been together long enough, she's taken enough bruises on the street—hell, she's verbally reamed him enough times—that he knows she's not made of porcelain. Rorschach has watched Dan pound her into the mattress. She's watched Rorschach fuck Dan until he howls. She can take it, but he won't give, not to _her_, and goddamn if that doesn't make her angry.

And now she's horny, too. Just great.

She breathes out a trail of smoke and dips two fingers into the dregs of the coffee he fixed for her, collects some of the nauseatingly sweet sludge from the bottom. He watches as she pushes them between her lips and sucks, watches as she pulls them out with a deliberate wet noise.

She flicks her tongue over her fingertips, and breaks the rules of their game. "Why don't you take a picture," she says, meeting his eyes and stubbing her cigarette out on a coaster. "Then you could jack off over it."

He scrunches that panel-beaten face in an expression of distaste, and she knows she's got him.

"I mean," she says, chair legs screeching across the kitchen tile as she stands. Rorschach folds his arms tight across his chest, defensive. "That's what you're doing, right? Staring at me so you can go—"

"Don't do that," he interrupts, and in that uninflected growl she doesn't know if he means he doesn't jerk it, or if he's telling her to stop. He's such a wretched little bastard sometimes, it could go either way.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," she says, taking that pity and letting it honey her voice. She knows how much he hates that. "You are _allowed_. I'm your—I mean, we are sleeping together and everything."

Goddamn it. She shuts up and just leans in to kiss him instead, slack and soft against his ungiving mouth, trying to tease something out of him.

His hands come up to grip her arms—carefully, of course, how else—and he huffs noisily against her lips. "Laurel," he says. "Daniel will—"

She cuts him off with sharp sigh, because it's such a weak excuse, and a goddamn manipulative one at that. Well, two can play at that game. "Dan will be glad that we're getting along better."

He fixes her with a doleful stare.

"C'mon," she says. She tucks her chin and tries to emulate Dan's no-nonsense eyebrow-raise.

That seems to do the trick.

He lets her tug him through to the living room, shirts and belts and shoes lost along the way. She is rough with the fly of his jeans, and he grabs her wrist a little too hard, harder than he means to for sure, but it's what she _wants_.

She licks at his mouth in response, and he makes one of those meaningless little noises—except they're not so meaningless any more. She figured out they're some kind of subverbal dialogue for things he can't (won't, doesn't know how to) express, and she's learning them, slow but sure.

That one meant conflict, threaded with need.

She sprawls onto the sofa and pulls him down with her; she figures if she doesn't give him a moment to think, he can't get all insecure and freaked out. It seems to work because he's kissing back now, scruff grating against her chin and cheeks and leaving the skin hot and tingling.

He tugs at her zipper, chewed stubs of his fingernails scraping against her belly when his hands shake.

"S'okay," she mutters, cursory reassurance as she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him flush against her. He's hot and firm through the cotton of their underwear, pressing against her clit. She can feel her heartbeat throb, or maybe it's his.

She circles her hips in a slow grind, and his arms shake where they are braced against the sofa cushion either side of her head. He pushes back, and she hastily wedges a hand between them to shift her underwear to one side and uncover his dick.

She guides him with one hand, nudges the head so it nestles just right. The other hand she curls around his ear, because she wants to keep his mouth on hers even though he's stopped using it. She knows he's concentrating, or maybe steeling himself, she doesn't know, but he does this every time. So goddamn careful.

She bites down on his lower lip, hard, takes advantage of his surprise to pull him all the way in, heels in the small of his back. She's kind of disappointed that she's so wet already; it makes things slick and easy when she's in the mood for that sweet, rough drag.

Rorschach chokes down a shocked sound and rocks into her; an instinctual need to get deeper. It makes her thoughts scatter but for _yes yes like that yes_—and then he's reining himself in again, holding back. There's no satisfaction in his shallow, predictable thrusting.

"Fuck," she says, and slaps his flank. "Come _on_."

The wounded look he gives her would be comical if it wasn't so tragic.

"Oh, god." She sighs in frustration. "Okay, I know what you like. I've seen what you do to Dan."

He presses his mouth into a bloodless line, as if he can stop blushing through sheer force of will. Laurie reckons with a little more practice he probably could, but for now it's a dead giveaway.

"I've seen your face," she says, switching her tone to something airy, like they're discussing the goddamn weather. "I watch you while you're fucking him."

"Laurel," he says. He sounds kind of appalled, but at least he's not trying to extricate himself. That's generally a good sign. The less antagonistic part of her wants to go ahead and reassure him, but her intuition kicks her in the head. It's a fine line between alleviating his shame and enabling a psychosexual meltdown, and she knows exactly what side 'I'll tell you if you're hurting me' will land them on.

Instead, she says, "You like to wreck him."

"Filthy mouth," he mutters, punctuating with a jerk of his hips.

Laurie arches against him with a long, low purr of encouragement. "No shit, you just noticed? Thought you were a detective."

She smirks at him when he bares his teeth, lines up another goading remark but he shifts and wraps his bony hands around her waist before she can slap him with it. He hitches her up, and he looks so ridiculously angry as he pulls out and then drives himself back into her. It's a childish, look-what-you-made-me-do kind of anger, one that she is intimately familiar with, and she thinks that maybe they're more alike than either of them are willing to admit.

Then he rolls his hips against her, lifts her ass off the cushions and she stops thinking much at all when he rams her against the sofa.

He buries his face in her shoulder as he fucks her—and he actually is, like he really means it, none of that uncharacteristic soft and gentle bullshit now—and she can feel his breath against her skin, gushing out through his nose in bursts. He stops breathing for a beat and pulls out, resting hot and damp against her stomach. She reaches down to stroke him.

"No." He takes her hand, moves it to cup his balls while he ruthlessly yanks at himself.

She rolls them over her palm and he grunts, wraps his other hand around hers and squeezes. She hisses, thighs tensing in sympathy pain as her nails dig in. She asks, "God, do you like that?"

"Yes," he says, more a whine than a word and she only has a moment to process that before he's shuddering against her, biting her shoulder and twitching his hips neurotically.

She rubs at her clit, brings herself off with a practiced efficiency when he groans into her ear, and fuck, pretty much ignores her own orgasm, because his shoulders are hitching and he doesn't sound too good. She'll make him pay for that later, but for now she breathes against the swell of heat and rides out the heart of it, then winds her arms around him.

"Shh," she says, and strokes the back of his head, scrubbing her fingers through his rough-cut hair. Her panties are soaked and chafing at the crease of her leg and he's smearing his come all over them both, but she can sort that out in a minute. "Shh, hey. It's okay. That was good, right? I like it like that, I like it when you're like that."

He doesn't say anything, just sucks in an unsteady breath. She holds him until he sounds calmer, and the tension drops out of his body. Not for the first time, Laurie wonders what she's gotten herself into.

Eventually she nudges him up, pushes her bra straps back onto her shoulders and tucks him back into his pants. He lets her guide him to the bathroom, obediently sits on the edge of the tub while she cleans them up. There's something about his posture that catches her unawares, makes her tilt his chin up, smooth the facecloth over his forehead and cheeks, and kiss the furrow between his brows.

He stares back at her, watching.


End file.
